


Declaration

by wings128



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Barebacking, Community: sg_flyboys, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, John/Cam Thing-a-Thon Challenge, M/M, Male Slash, Meet the Family, Outdoor Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cam grunted; if he didn’t step back now, he was in danger of jumping John, pushing him back and rutting and kissing till they both came – right there in front of Carolyn and anyone watching the CCTV feed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Declaration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gaffsie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaffsie/gifts).



> Thanks to milly_gal for her enthusiastic beta-ing, to auscaz and stir_of_echoes for their pre-post, confidence-boosting feedback.
> 
> [](http://s1343.photobucket.com/user/Wings128/media/Art/r11wings128rjudgeschoice_zps5c797755.png.html)

John sat at his clear glass desk in the top of the tallest tower of a beautiful ancient city that gleamed like a rare precious gem in a crown of sapphire blue, and counted down the slow-crawling daylight hours until he could see Cam again.

Cameron Mitchell wasn’t a prince, not in the traditional sense, but with his tall frame, brown hair, high-riding to-die-for ass, and eyes as blue as the sun-specked ocean out his picture window; he was John’s prince.

The dark haired man leaned back in his office chair, completely unaware of his own attractiveness; long lashes framed gold-flecked hazel-green eyes, messy black hair, and a long lean body that was currently sprawled out in front of him; had always and would continue to draw admiring glances from both women and men.

Fourth-of-July-weekend; John sighed and pictured him and Cam sitting, each of them with a pristine white linen napkin draped over one properly-pressed and starched knee, while they tried to swallow down the well balanced and incredibly healthy cheeseburgers they attempted to cut into perfect bite-sized wedges with two hundred year old Sheppard-crested silverware.

David Eton Sheppard – John still thought his brother had drawn the long straw in the name stakes – was so busy trying to _honour_ their father’s memory by being just as much of a stuffed shirt as the man who’d sired him; that John barely recognised the guy who’d taken him to his first college party. It was also John’s first kiss, and his first kiss with a guy no less, but he hadn’t told Dave that.

The Sheppard brothers were as different as oil and water.

John had unwittingly followed in the tradition of second sons, by leaving the family home and joining the military. Sure he’d done it without parental approval but only because he’d refused to offer up his own life in exchange for being his father’s spare heir. He grimaced, thought of the suffocating society life he’d run from and shuddered at the narrowness of his escape.

They’d met at basic, shared barracks with fifty other guys. Cam’s easy manner and charm with which the other guy had made friends and influenced the higher-ups had irked John. Apparently acing all your classes and being a top shelf pilot wasn’t enough, you had to have friends too. John gave a soft chuckle in memory; turned out John hadn’t minded so much when that southern farmboy charm had been directed at him.

The question was; how could he take his gay lover of fifteen-years-this-Sunday home to the family mansion when John had always considered the Mitchell farm as his home? 

Since the moment Cam had laughingly dragged a nervous John over the threshold of his parents’ sprawling homestead, and he’d been wrapped so warmly in the arms of _just call me Wendy dear_ Mrs Mitchell, who smelled of country air, summer flowers and buttery piecrust; John had thought of Auburn Kansas as home.

He loved Cam’s ever-growing, always-welcoming, and loud family; called Wendy _Mom_ when she called him Earthside _just to hear how you’re doin’_ \- he still hadn’t figured out her chain of command – but it felt good to hear the smooth drag of her vowels in his ear.

So, how could he subject Cam to a weekend at a place where even someone as well-balanced as his boyfriend would contemplate hanging himself inside of the first five minutes; a place where the residents saw him as a weed to be dug out from the roots of the perfectly-pruned family tree.

John groaned at the thought, rubbed his palms over his face and up over his scalp, leaving fresh randomness in the craziness of his hair. The only one John was excited for Cam to meet was Jett, his one and only friend at the ranch. They’d hung out together when John was home from boarding school; explored all the unexplored secrets waiting to be discovered on ten thousand acres of prime Californian land. John had spent that last summer, alone except for Jett. The summer before he’d enlisted, was the best memory John had of his youth and he was relieved he had something he could share with Cam; something as special to John as Cam’s family was to him.

His radio bleeped him back to the stark white walls of his office and he tapped open the connection. “Sheppard.”

John typed his credentials into the space provided and tapped _enter_ with his right pinkie. “I’ve sent it already Elizabeth, check your inbox.”

He smirked at the carefully concealed exasperation behind his boss’s “Thank you John, can you come by my office before you go?”

“I’ll be right over.” He answered, already pushing up out of his chair; anything to fill the remaining two hours and forty-seven minutes was welcome at this point.

Elizabeth looked up at John’s knock, thoughts still on whatever project had demanded this designated hour of her time. He didn’t envy her her position; considered himself lucky to have Lorne keeping the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed. 

“Elizabeth,” he offered by way of greeting, relaxed into her visitors’ chair and tapped his fingers on its arms.

“Nervous, John?” She asked with a teasing toss of her chestnut curls.

“No,” John ducked his head and rubbed a palm across his nape, “just waiting’s not my strongest suit.”

“Really?” Elizabeth out-right belly-laughed and John felt heat paint his cheeks. “That’s not something I’ve noticed about you, Colonel.”

“Was there something specific you wanted, Dr Weir?” John asked in an effort to steer the attention off himself.

Elizabeth smiled, her amusement still glimmering in the green depths of her intelligent eyes. “Would you mind putting these into the SGC’s mail drop, the Daedalus won’t be here for another week and since you’re headed home…?”

“Sure, no problem.” John took the two envelopes with their scrollwork motifs from Elizabeth’s outstretched hand and turned on his heel to leave. “There’s nothing I like more than being a carrier pigeon.”

Elizabeth laughed at his crooked grin and shooed him out. “Go, enjoy your weekend John, I’ll see you Tuesday night.”

“Yes, ma’am,” John drawled and snapped his heels together before he headed to his quarters to add Elizabeth’s letters to those of Lorne, Esposito, Radek and Cole. 

He really didn’t mind, whoever gated through to Earth willingly took on the role of mailman and John took secret delight in seeing the looks of joy on the expedition members’ faces when he returned with two sacks; each stamped _property of US Mail Service._

~*~

Cam stood legs _at ease_ and arms crossed over his chest and waited out the excruciatingly long three point one seconds that followed Walter’s _incoming traveller._

‘It’d been a year. What if he’d changed?’ Cam scoffed at himself. Of course he hadn’t; that was one of the things he loved about John, ‘and yeah, he’d said love. So what.’ 

Cam’d been in love with John Sheppard from the day he’d first laid eyes on him.

‘C’mon,’ he grumbled silently, eyes glued to the shimmering blue of the vertical puddle and waited for its surface to ripple as John walked through it. ‘Seriously! How long could three point one seconds be, anyway?’

The warning alarm silenced at the same instant as John cleared the event horizon and walked slowly down the ramp to face the on-alert guard unit.

“Colonel Sheppard,” Cam greeted as he waved the guards back, “welcome home.”

What he actually wanted to say was, ‘Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes, I wanna kiss you till I’m dizzy with the taste of you.’

John smiled out at Cam from behind Colonel Sheppard’s affable demeanour and Cam breathed for the first time in he couldn’t remember; likely since John had walked up this ramp three hundred and eighty-seven days ago.

“Colonel Mitchell.” John said with a nod and followed Cam out into the grey corridor that led to the SGC’s Infirmary; eyes definitely not-glued to the way the other man’s ass flexed invitingly with each carefully measured stride.

John couldn’t wait to get his hands on Cam, couldn’t wait to be free of the oppressive weight he always felt on coming back to the military formality of the mountain. He couldn’t wait to be riding shotgun, both windows down and breeze blowing in, watching Cam sit behind the wheel of his Mustang. He’d be talking a-mile-a-minute about games John’d missed and ones he’d recorded for John to watch back on Atlantis, while his hand casually slid up the inseam of splayed thighs and stroked till John came in his jeans. Cam had done that to him last visit; had pulled off into some nameless dirt track and using John’s come as lube; had fucked John rough and hard into a weak-kneed moaning mess against hot American metal.

He must’ve moaned because Cam looked at him, that fucking gorgeous mouth curved in a knowing smirk as they rounded into the pretty-much-deserted Infirmary. John could’ve sworn he heard Cam murmur _soon_ under his breath, but then Dr Lam was there and directing John to a spare exam bed.

Under the pretext of helping out a friend, Cam took John’s duffle from his hand and made sure to brush his fingers over the other man’s palm; stroked once, twice, before pulling back. When he met the hazel-green eyes slightly above him where his fellow colonel shifted uncomfortably on the bed, they were sparked with the same gold-flecked heat Cam fantasied about, every lonely night John was in Pegasus.

Cam grunted; if he didn’t step back now, he was in danger of jumping John, pushing him back and rutting and kissing till they both came – right there in front of Carolyn and anyone watching the CCTV feed.

It was a damn close thing, and the way John was looking him over, told Cam it could just’ve easily been _him_ flat on his back with arms full of dark-haired colonel and being kissed mindless. ‘They had to get the hell outta here. NOW!’

 _Now_ was actually an hour and forty-seven minutes; but as they drove out of the last checkpoint and down the access road to join mainstream traffic, Cam wasn’t going to sweat the details when he had John arching up into his hand. Life was grand and Cam was gonna make sure they enjoyed every minute of it.

“Hang in there, baby, just five more minutes.” Cam said and cupped John’s swollen balls in one talented hand.

John really didn’t know if he could hold it even that long, if his boyfriend didn’t lay off and let him breathe in some of the calm that’d evaporated with Cam’s first touch.

They were barely out the car, John’s bag abandoned in the back seat, in favour of the privacy Cam’s hallway provided and John felt the door panels dig into his back before the echo of its slam had died away.

Cam was in his arms, kissing heat into his starving mouth and John’s hands were _finally_ curved around pert ass cheeks, yanking hips in tight, feeling the solid eagerness of Cam’s cock rubbing and grinding against his own.

“Fuck, Cam!” he gasped when they separated on the need to breathe fresh oxygen into panting lungs.

“Later, you first,” Cam laughed and dove into him again as clumsy desperate fingers wrestled with the button-fly of John’s Levis.

Cam’s hand on his flesh was too much and too good for him not to want everything Cam was offering; it’d been _way_ too long. 

“Down,” he muttered, letting his jello-knees have their way, taking Cam down to the floor with him just as the hand on his dick swiped teasingly over the head.

They wrestled, a tangle of pushed down denim, rucked up tees, roaming hands and thrusting hips, until Cam had John pinned beneath him; long lean muscle arching up, asking, begging to be taken.

“Easy, flyboy,” he murmured into the salty beaded sweat on John’s hip. “You’re home. I gotcha.”

John stilled, sighed, Cam’s assurance a cool balm on a fevered soul, and allowed his boyfriend to explore him; to lay kisses on scars old to John but new to the touch of those sweet full lips. He arched into Cam’s fingers, shivered at the spit-slick glide around his furled entrance and pulled himself wider; offered himself up and blushed at Cam’s praise as hard unrepentant flesh breached him, filled him in a slow slide that burned so sweet as it invaded him. After so long, John _finally_ felt complete.

“Oh hell, yeah!” Cam tried to breathe, tried to keep himself back. The lube was in the bedroom and spit was hardly adequate, but they wouldn’t’ve made it; the wait, the separation and the longing, too much to fight against; had they even wanted to.

John felt amazing; tight and hot, with a silky rasp of friction from lack of lube. Cam could do rough, John could take it. He thrust hard and deep and sudden, felt John clamp tight with shock, shunted once more to be totally encased and felt John squeeze in tight flutterings of welcome that had him groaning, into the moist heat of John’s mouth and liking the spark of stubble scraping at the edge of his lips. Thighs lifted and tightened over his hips, keeping Cam in place, urging movement; but Cam wanted to revel in the moment and he shoved his own hips down, held John still and frustrated beneath him, fighting Cam’s dominance in a way that would always drive Cam to answer in kind.

“John!” It was an embarrassingly high squeak that was answered with his own name pressed into the crook of his neck.

“Please.” That one whispered word tore at Cam, encouraged him into the rhythm they both needed, wanted, remembered, even after so long apart.

He pulled back within the cramped space of John’s circled thighs and forced his way back in, felt John part for and enclose around him; a constant battle between the desire to repel invasion and the need to be filled.

John felt his orgasm low in his belly, felt the weight of Cam’s cock fucking him hard, igniting a burn that rode the ridge of pain and pleasure; pleasure that soaked into every cell of his body, pleasure that wrapped around his heart like his arms around sweat-slick flanks; the pain of separation and worry like the press of their tags into his chest and the bite of his lover’s nails into the curve of his shoulders.

He fought the hand anchoring him to the scratchy carpet, thrust up to meet Cam with eager hips and straining lips; tongue and cock invading him, claiming him, reminding John that he was someone’s, belonged, was wanted and needed and loved by someone. The dam burst and he came; bright sparks behind his eyes and hot spurts of pleasure on his chest as hands dug into flexing muscle to keep Cam deep while he filled John, emptied himself to give John everything.

Sex had only ever meant release, until Cam. Cam who was calling him back to him. John went, now and every other time, John would always come back to Cam.

~*~ 

When John met Cam in the kitchen the next morning, showered with soft blue jeans hanging loose on his narrow hips, their ragged hems brushing the tops of his bare feet as he pulled on a faded red tee, Cam nearly dropped the cooler and the thermos of strong black coffee in favour of jumping his goddamn sexy boyfriend. Instead he maintained a precarious grip on their lunch and stared - just stared - until John looked up, his puzzled expression softening into understanding. 

“Hey, let’s get some road behind us first.”

Cam nodded dumbly and allowed John to take the items while he continued to stare after long legs and that peach of an ass. ‘Never mind the road, _he_ could definitely get behind that.’

“Cam, you comin’?” John called. “Let’s move, I’ve gotta introduce my boyfriend to my brother.”

“Cool your jets flyboy, I’m comin’,” Cam grinned as he rounded the kitchen corner into the entranceway and found John silhouetted in the open door; thermos, cooler and one duffle already in hand. “For someone who’s against this road trip you’re sure keen to hustle.”

John just smiled a rare secretive smile that melted Cam to his very core and ambled out to the car. Two hours later, they were headed west on I-80; the first hundred and forty miles already consumed by the sun’s first tentative rays and the beat of classic 80’s music. 

John rolled his eyes and sighed with long suffering amusement as he curved his neck to the headrest. Cam grinned at him before turning his gaze back to the long straight stretch of highway. “When it’s your turn to drive, you can pick the tunes. In the meantime, let’s see if your map readin’s got any better out in Pegasus.”

John caught the neatly folded map Cam tossed at him, “take to the sky, for there are no roads to travel by.”

“So that’s a _no_ then? Remind me to stop for gas before you start leading me astray,” Cam teased and shifted back in his seat, settled deeper into its leather contours. He loved driving nearly as much as flying and neither he nor his ride had had this kind of run in a long time.

“Kinda late to be worried about that now, isn’t it?” John murmured softly.

Cam felt the warm slide of his boyfriend’s palm up the inside of his thigh and parted his legs encouragingly, “yeah, ‘spose so.”

~*~

They stopped for gas when the tank read quarter and Cam’s leg had been stabbing sharp pain behind his knee for the past thirty miles or so.

John’d laid his head back just outside of Rock Springs, eyes hidden behind mirrored lenses, and allowed the drone of rubber on asphalt to lull him to sleep. He looked happy in his relaxed loose-limbed sprawl, threadbare knees grazing the dash, that Cam didn’t disturb him; just unfolded himself from behind the wheel, fed the pump into the Mustang’s tank and made his way round the side of the building to the restroom. When he came back, flexing his bad knee on every other stride, John was crossing the forecourt, arms laden with brightly-coloured foil packages. 

“Oh…ummm…I’ve been craving this junk like you wouldn’t believe.” He grinned, ducking too late to hide the naughty-kid blush painting his cheeks, “McKay’s stash ran out months ago.”

Cam chuckled and reached for the nearest bar, flipped it over to read the standard issue confusion of preservatives, additives and _all natural flavours._ “We’re gonna have to stop, let you burn some of this off before you sink into a diabetic coma.”

“And I’m bettin’ you know _just_ how I can do that.” John’s eyebrow lift and crooked smirk had Cam hard against the zipper of his pale blue denims in nothing flat.

~*~ 

They’d switched the driving and the music twice, and John was behind the wheel when the Mustang’s tyres turned from the highway onto a private road so pristine it looked as if someone had scrubbed every inch with their toothbrush. The thought made John grimace as he squeezed Cam’s bicep and gently shook the rubber-on-the-road-induced sleep from the other man.

“W-haa?”

John smirked, Cam _was_ kinda adorable when he first woke up; all five-year-old eye-knuckling, mussed hair, and long shifting limbs.

“We’re here.” John gestured to the intricate rearing stallions motif worked into the iron arch of _Longride Stud,_ they were four feet from passing under.

“This all yours?” Cam croaked, his voice raspy with sleep and impressed curiosity.

“No,” John murmured, but didn’t take his eyes from the bend in the drive he was negotiating when he felt Cam’s all-too-knowing eyes assessing him. “My brother’s.”

It was a painfully-silent ten minute crawl; the open windows doing nothing to ease the sticky heat smearing itself and their clothes to their skin. If Cam hadn’t already been aware, this reluctant arrival – so slow it was almost _stop_ \- would’ve told him just how little John wanted to be here.

The dark-haired man at his side sat comfortably behind the wheel, one hand at ten o’ clock, emotions poorly shielded by expensive aviators, while the other white-knuckled the shifter; as if any second he would throw them into reverse and flee like a jackrabbit from a kid’s pellet gun.

“Hey,” Cam reached between them, the small space seeming to encompass all of his boyfriend’s childhood, and gripped John’s knee; felt soft frayed denim and hot skin curve to his palm. “They’ll love me. My southern charm’s irresistible to Sheppard’s.”

The car veered a little with John’s startled bark of laughter and it was a quick second to have it righted before John looked gratefully across at the light and dancing shadows of Cam’s eyes.

“Yep,” he agreed, his answering smirk sliding off his face between one breath and the next. “They’ll love you; it’s me they have the problem with.”

Cam’s grip tightened before it slid, all smooth heat and reassuring comfort, up into the crease at the top of John’s thigh. John released his grip on the shifter and squeezed their fingers together in gratitude. ‘When had he got so lucky?’

The house came into view as they cleared the final rise in the still immaculate drive. Cam imagined little gremlins racing out from the tree lined edges to sweep away all evidence of their passing and smiled before focusing on where he’d be staying for the next four days.

It had an impressive one-level sprawl going on; a mother hen with her outbuilding chicks clustered nearby; cool cream walls, deeply-shadowed by a straight-limbed porch roof that followed itself in stately grace around the entire house. It looked like a place that fought to maintain highbrow standards amid the dust and casualness of country life. Despite himself, Cam felt a taut wariness sneak its way into his shoulders and grip tight in the nape of his neck. 

“Well, would ya look at that. You’ve been holdin’ out on me, flyboy.” Cam teased, patted John’s thigh in encouragement and unfolded himself to stand and stretch his back, arms above his head, in the space of the open passenger door.

John sighed, mimicked Cam’s exit and stood with his forearms resting on scorching metal and stared at the one property in his father’s real estate portfolio that’d ever carried a semblance of home. A deeper sigh contracted his lungs painfully as he realised no one was coming to greet them. He didn’t know why it should still bother him; no one had ever come to welcome him home before, why had he hoped this time would be any different? John looked across the expanse of dusty roof, traced the treasured lines of Cam’s sun-loving profile and admitted the reason. He’d wanted, just once, to give his boyfriend the same feeling of family that John got every time they visited the Mitchell farm; the feeling of welcome and home that always centred John; gave him the small knot of warmth that’d be conspicuously absent this weekend. 

John knew how important family was to Cam, so much a part of who the other man was that he worried about what this visit would do to them; whether Cam would look at him differently after seeing where John came from. As if it somehow affected John’s ability to maintain a healthy relationship. He knew it did; only it hadn’t made itself known – what with them always being posted in different time zones for pretty much the whole time they’d been together.

He knew what he and Cam had was solid. A lifetime of separation hinged by snatched and stolen intervals of bliss, proved that; but there was still a part of him, a part he regularly squashed into the darkest corner of his subconscious that argued the point. ‘One day Cam would leave him for someone more family-minded, more local. Someone less damaged.’

John startled out of his thoughts with the slam of the trunk and looked at Cam, their bags in one capable hand, the other outstretched and waiting for him. ‘Or maybe…’

Tension lingered thick and oppressive in the hot humid air as they stood in the wide, enveloping cool shade of the wooden-decked porch and waited for John’s five-two knock to be answered.

Cam squeezed John’s hand until their fingers started to turn white from the pressure, sweat making their palms slick, but Cam just held tighter and didn’t give voice to the thought that had this been his home, he would’ve walked right in, and announced his presence with a loud echoey _helloooo!_ But this wasn’t his parents’ farm in Kansas; wasn’t the red bi-cut door held open by the iron herd-of-cattle stopper and the squeaky screen door; it was John’s home. 

Cam swallowed hard, shoved down the overwhelming sadness for the man at his side. If John chose to wait forever on this side of the apparently unbreachable barrier, then Cam would wait too. If John decided to ignore the protocol his upbringing demanded, and open the door himself, then Cam would walk over that threshold and face all that lay beyond it with him. If John turned and headed for the car at a run, then Cam would drive his lover outta here; leave only the acrid smell of burnt rubber and just keep driving, all the way home. 

Home to a place where John was welcomed with open arms, a place where his boyfriend was loved by people who’d made room for John in their hearts and accepted him as he was; without John needing to change or measure up to some ridiculously impossible standard. 

John was amazing; intelligent, capable, an ace pilot, a highly decorated Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force, dammit!

‘Jesus, Mary and…’ John’d saved whole worlds, including Earth, on more than one top-secret occasion!

Cam had worked himself up to silent defensive outrage in the excruciatingly-long three minutes they’d been standing there, and he huffed a disgruntled breath at John’s whispered _s’okay._ ‘No, it _damn_ well wasn’t!’

John shifted his feet but didn’t let go of Cam’s hand, sensed it was the only thing preventing the man from breaking ‘n’ entering and demanding some acknowledgement of John’s return. He nursed the growing fuzzy warmth nestled behind his ribs and tried to reassure his fellow colonel that this was how Sheppard’s did this; even as doubt and embarrassment prevented the ball of warmth from getting any larger.

Footsteps, hurried and soft, drew close and they heard the snick of deadbolts and clink of chain before the door swung wide.

A short, almost elderly woman with straight shoulder-length grey hair and spider web creases at the corners of her intense blue eyes, bounced with ecstatic joy as she fumbled the screen door’s latch. 

Cam’s feathers settled as he watched the reunion. At least someone realised his lover’s worth; knew how amazing he was beneath the handsome yet silent unapproachable exterior.

“Àguila, Àguila! I’m so glad you’ve come back. And so tall! So handsome!”

“Momma-Rosa,” John blushed as he stooped to duck his brow against her five-foot-five floral-printed shoulder. “For you. And Jett. And Cam.”

Cam heard his name whispered in awed affection and waited for the woman, who obviously meant a lot to John, to notice his existence.

“Ahhh,” Rosa sighed as she pulled free of John’s embrace, left floured handprints on red cotton, and turned to give Cam her full attention, motherly protectiveness stiffening every part of her curvy body.

“Hello, Rosa. It’s good to meet you.” Cam smiled his charming-the-restless-natives smile and dropped their bags to offer his right hand, the other still tight in John’s now trembling grip. “Cameron Mitchell, but everyone just calls me Cam.”

He knew he was babbling, this woman’s opinion was obviously important to John and could affect devastating change in a life Cam was rather fond of in its existing setup.

Time dragged, Cam frozen in a parody of civilized greeting while Rosa scrutinized him, saw into every part of him as if she’d raised him from birth. It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant experience. Just as he wondered if he should retrieve his hand from no-mans-land, or give it an extra second, Cam was crushed into an all-encompassing hug, scented with cinnamon and sweetness that reminded him of his own mother and grandmother; so he hugged back with one arm and most of his chest while still maintaining his grip on John. They may have made it to base camp, but as far as Cam could tell, it was located smack in the middle of enemy-occupied territory. It was in that moment, he realised just how much it’d taken for John to return here; let alone bring his male lover with him.

“You are Àguila’s great love. We no shake hands, only hugs. And food!” Cam grinned in answer to Rosa’s genuine smile and picked up their bags again. “Come, you must have hunger clawing within you.”

Cam heard John chuckle, felt the stroke of his thumb along his own and breathed deep for the first time since John had shaken him awake. 

“I could eat, ma’am,” Cam drawled and ignored John’s eye roll in favour of finally stepping over the threshold and into the polished floor, cream-coloured walls and air-conned interior of John’s family home.

~*~ 

David Sheppard shut the garage door on the quiet ticking of his black S4 BMW’s cooling engine and walked long-legged and straight-shouldered across to the main house.

No matter how long he lived here, he would never consider the place his. _Longride_ was and always would be the dream of Patrick Sheppard; not that David had a clue as to whether his father dreamed. Despite the years he’d spent with the man, learning the business, trying with his every action, thought and word to measure up to his sire’s impossible standards, to be the model son; there was, in fact, very little David knew about his father beyond what was needed to take a meeting or work a room.

He loosened the immaculately tied Eldredge knot in the sky-blue silk around his neck and flicked his top button, exposing tanned and suffocating skin to the cool of twilight, and sighed. John would be here soon. ‘I hope I can say _hello_ without stepping on a landmine.’

David took the porch steps three at a time and opened the French doors that led into the homestead’s office, only to be met with laughter instead of the quiet stillness he was used to. A hopeful smile played with the corners of his mouth but didn’t purchase land as David divested himself of keys, door remote and platinum-edged onyx cufflinks, onto the crystal tray left for the purpose on the fifteenth century dresser; briefcase and grey pinstripe Savile Row jacket left to mar the rolled arm of the studded brown leather sofa that occupied the space in front of the river-stone fireplace. 

None of the things in this room were David’s; he didn’t feel at-home here, and yet, he’d never felt the urge to redecorate. _Longride_ was his father’s and David was just the poor schmuck who’d signed up to live another man’s life. Or at least that’d been Louisa’s accusation – flung at him with a disappointed and hurt toss of her long blonde hair – as she’d left him for the Aegean and the kisses of her son-of-a-Greek-god personal trainer. 

He scoffed; apparently there was money and woman to be had in the field of sculpting thighs and toning asses. Who knew?

‘Well,’ David sighed as he popped a second button and flapped the four hundred thread count cotton shirt to encourage the manufactured air to cool both his skin and his nerves, ‘into the lion’s lair, went David.’

David walked the wide elegantly decorated entrance hall that divided the house, toward the lively conversation and laughter that spilled from the kitchen door like water over falls. John was talking with Rosa and he had someone with him. David felt his gut clench at the sound of the other man’s voice, its drawl coating his vowels in slow moving molasses. 

John hadn’t said he was bringing company. David looked down at his appearance, decided his brother would offer a barb about being straight-laced no matter what he was wearing, and entered the cavernous homestead kitchen before he could talk himself out of it.

Three sets of eyes turned to face him, but David focused on his brother. The man hadn’t changed a bit in the intervening years; a little thinner perhaps, but he still had that mess of unruly hair so like their mother’s, all his limbs and no serious wounds – that David could see, anyway.

“John,” he smiled and stepped in his brother’s direction, arm outstretched and a nervous smile on his lips. “It’s good to see you. You didn’t mention you were bringing a guest.”

The defensive shuttering that erased the hopeful look on John’s face, told David he’d said something wrong; but as he replayed his greeting in his head, he couldn’t see the error. It’d been less than a minute and John was already of a mind to leave. ‘How could he have fucked up so quickly?’

He had a long history of stellar fuck ups where John was concerned, but this had to be some kind of record. David’s hand fell to his side, like it was lead lined, when John let go; the warm strength of his brother’s grip continuing to linger against his palm.

“You must be Dave,” the stranger, who had stood when David entered, brushed John’s shoulder in reassurance and stepped forward, offering his hand. “Cam Mitchell, it’s good to finally meet you.”

The implication in the introduction was that John had talked about David so much that Cam couldn’t wait to meet him; but David suspected they were here only because Cam hadn’t shut up about it and for that one deed alone, David was determined to like the guy.

“David Sheppard,” he confirmed, John was the only one who’d ever called him _Dave._ “How do you know my brother?”

‘You idiot! John’s looking like he’s about to murder you - or leave and never come back – you stupid fucking idiot!’

Silence didn’t have time to take hold; this guy with the intense blue eyes, knew the lay of the land and could steer him round all of John’s carefully placed landmines, that David was so pitifully adept at stumbling onto.

“Oh, him?” Cam gestured over his shoulder at John, “yeah, I’ve known Shep for nigh on fifteen years, met at basic.” 

David nodded and moved to take the large tumbler of iced tea Rosa was holding out to him. The deep feeling that filled Cam’s eyes wasn’t lost on David and he felt the knots in his stomach loosen just a bit. He’d wondered if John had someone, wherever it was that his brother spent the years of his self-imposed exile. 

“Where’s Lousia?” John asked, his eyes locked with Dave’s, “thought she’d be here directing her minions for the party.”

John had warmed up to his brother’s wife about as much as you could to an iceberg, but for the sake of peace, he was polite to the moneyed society princess his brother had chosen to shack up with. A myriad of emotions flickered behind those green eyes so like his own and John knew he’d found a trip wire. Dave wasn’t the only Sheppard with that particular skill.

“On her way to Greece.” Dave’s voice was rough on John’s already taut nerves. “With her personal trainer, who, and I quote; _loves me like you never did.”_

David stepped back, startled by John’s sudden move in his direction, and raised his free hand in defence. “It’s for the best, she’s happy and I…” He didn’t know how to finish, and the hovering silence was only too eager to invade again.

“So, no delusions of grandeur, then? No mingling with Sacramento’s finest?”

David huffed a surprised laugh at his brother’s quirked eyebrow and crooked smirk. “No, it’s just us…four.”

John’s shoulders seemed to shed the burden they’d been carrying and David was relieved; his brother always looked like he carried the weight of three worlds on his back. It was good to see it falling away, even if it was only for the length of his visit.

“So I won’t be needin’ my Sunday best?” Cam grinned.

“Not unless you wanna end up in the pool,” John threatened and tried to ignore the way his dick hardened against his thigh at the image of Cam tuxed-up and soaked to the skin.

“No, and no caviar whatevers either,” David declared, feeling more relaxed and optimistic than he had in a long while. “Just ice cream, beer and burgers; the one hundred percent gen-u-ine grease, cheese, beef and ketchup filled kind.”

“Swimming on a full stomach.” John chirped in, still distracted by the thought of peeling expensive wet silk from his boyfriend’s panting abs.

“And baseball!” David shot back, only to be brought up short by the shocked expression on John’s face.

‘He’d ruined it, again! Why did he always do it? Could he have a different superpower please, one that didn’t give him the ability to trigger his brother so expertly.’ 

John broke, sharp barks of laughter fighting their way out of his chest as he shifted his position atop the red padded barstool, “Football, man, it’s always football!”

David ducked his head, his relief concealed in the embarrassed blush sweeping over his cheeks. “Sure, little brother, you can have your football, but I’m working the grill.”

Cam’s _huh!_ and manly backslap to John’s shoulder as his brother eyeballed him, was a balm to David’s spirit and he laughed, freer than before. If Louisa’s leaving meant that he got John back in trade, then he was more than happy with his end.

~*~

“That could’ve gone worse,” Cam commented in an effort to ease the line of obvious tension in John’s shoulders, as he followed his boyfriend down another slightly narrower, but no less spartanly opulent hallway, a few hours later.

John grunted in both reluctant agreement and acknowledgment of Cam’s habitual attempt to smooth things over, but didn’t look back; instead he stepped through an open door and into the room they’d been assigned for the time they were here.

“Damn, baby, this your room?” Cam exclaimed with awed amazement and thought of his own childhood bedroom in his parents’ home. Faded movie posters plastered on sky blue painted walls and a queen bed that’d recently replaced the twin he’d slept in for nineteen years, held no comparison to silver wallpaper with a black pattern that felt velvety under his fingertips, white high-moulded ceilings and a super-huge bed that seemed to dominate the even larger room.

“Not my room,” John mumbled as he rifled through his duffle for his toothbrush.

It wasn’t until John looked up to meet his gaze, that Cam realised the other man was blushing an interesting shade of crimson and the gold flecks in the eyes he loved so much, were alive with barely-restrained passion. “Rosa put us here, said Dave was back in his old room since Louisa left.”

Cam wasn’t usually slow on the uptake, but what with the eighteen hour drive, Rosa’s awesome cooking, and the couple of beers afterwards, he was having trouble tracking John’s logic. “So, why are we in the _guest_ room and not yours?”

His eyes swept over the catalogue-feel of ebony furniture and silver silk comforter. “Kinda hoped I’d get to see, you…y’know,” he gestured to encompass the sterility of the room around them.

John had advanced on him, without Cam realising, had tucked fingers into the belt loops of Cam’s jeans and yanked their hips together. “It’s next to Dave’s, Rosa thought…” another meaningful tug had Cam following John to the closed white door opposite the one they’d entered through, “…we’d want the privacy.”

Cam felt his own cheeks flame with realisation as John snicked open the door and pulled him into the chrome and grey ensuite with its glass walled shower, “I’ve been thinking about this _all_ night.”

Cam’s startled _whaat?_ was cut short by the soft insistent kiss John pressed into his mouth as he manoeuvred them both into the shower and levered on the water.

“Rosa’s…a…very…intelligent…woman,” Cam panted at the combined sensations of not-quite-hot water as it soaked his white tee to the contours of his chest and shoulders, and the scorching suction of John’s mouth on his eager nipple through the transparent cotton.

John’s answer was to grind the hard length of his cock into the crease of Cam’s thigh, rubbing wet denim over sensitive flesh while he held Cam in place under the jets with a possessive grip on his ass. Cam couldn’t hold back a growling moan as teeth grazed peaked flesh and his own hands tugged his lover closer; fingers dipping behind a soaked waistband to stroke and tease the tender skin of John’s belly as he decided this arrangement, was probably for the best. ‘They weren’t exactly quiet, and John could always show him his room later…much…later…’

~*~

John woke with the comforting weight of Cam’s arm draped low on his hip, broad hand splayed over the light trail of hair, fingers stroking mindless whorls into his skin. He smiled, a light lift at the corner of his mouth, like it was attached to a string. Cam might tease him mercilessly if he knew, but John liked moments like this; the hushed quiet of the waking world kept at bay by the brush of his boyfriend’s warm breath against the back of his neck, the steady drum of a heartbeat against his back, the heavy tangle of long legs entangled with his, and the way the expensive non-military-issue bedding cocooned the two of them together. It was a dream-like bubble of reality where he and Cam were protected from separation, from family politics, from superior alien forces hell-bent on their destruction; a bubble that would never last long enough for John.

“Hey,” Cam’s embrace tightened and John arched his back, pressed his ass into the cradle of his fellow colonel’s hips; felt the raspy tickle of pubes against his cheeks and wriggled invitingly.

“Hey, back.” Cam’s deep chuckle filled John’s chest and he dropped his own hand from under his pillow to stroke the back of Cam’s; to mimic the mindless swirls until Cam pulled free to lift John’s ass open.

John groaned, the press of urgent morning wood against his hole making him loud. He’d gone so long without the constant availability of Cam’s cock, that he didn’t care who heard them. Just as long as Cam filled him, fucked him hard and held him skewered while strong hands bruised into his hips; kept him tight and close as he dragged them both over the edge they craved. John shuddered with each of Cam’s demanding thrusts, awkwardly twisted his neck so they could kiss.

Cam shoved John’s thigh higher; made more room for himself within the grasping heat of John. “So, good…want…”

His hips rutted deep and he felt John tighten, spasm around his cock and dug his fingers into narrow hips as he emptied, filled his lover with all that he was, moaned John’s name without concern for discovery before folding down over the sweating heaving back beneath him.

“Heavy!” John groaned on a laugh a long moment later and shoved back, trying to dislodge Cam before their not-so-young joints fused.

Cam’s amused snort morphed into a protesting groan as he pulled out, rolled off John and twisted tighter in the tangle of silk sheet. “Why baby, you have such sweet pillow-talk.”

“Shuddup,” John mumbled into the lush pillow as he rolled over to face Cam, to enjoy the sparks of blue fire he knew would linger in his boyfriend’s fucking incredible eyes, to kiss him. ‘God, he was getting soft in his old age.’

“Speak for yourself, flyboy,” Cam mocked, “can I help it if I’m so young and spry?”

John hadn’t realised he’d said the last thought aloud, but he scoffed out a _yeah right_ when Cam’s knee clicked its way from bent to straight and its owner untangled and resettled the bedding over both of them.

“Damn right,” Cam agreed good-naturedly and lifted an arm in invitation. 

John felt his smirk widen into a smile and wriggled till his cheek rested in the hollow of Cam’s shoulder and the other man’s arm curled him in tight against a long muscular flank. “Now get some sleep old man.”

John was asleep before his indignant protest could leave his kiss-swollen lips.

~*~

It was a long time later when John woke to an empty bed, blankets tucked lovingly up under his chin. The blended laughter of both his brother and his lover called to him through the open patio door, but they were shielded from view by the intricately-laced and gently-moving curtain. John couldn’t think of a better way to wake up, and his heart squeezed painfully in his chest; like a fist had taken hold, forced a pause before releasing and allowing the organ to continue its regular beat. It wasn’t a particularly good feeling; kinda freaked him out with its echo of possible heart failure, but John preferred to focus on the deeper, all-consuming feeling that followed in its wake.

He was content to lie there and listen; the conversation of the two men lost beneath the sizzle of grilling meat, before rising back to John on a wave of barked laughter. It sounded so normal and John wondered if they’d been beamed to Kansas while he’d slept, because the atmosphere fitted better with Mitchell’s than Sheppard’s. 

He rolled off the Cam-scented pillow to lie flat on his back - arms stretched wide on either side and still his fingers didn’t touch the edges of the giant bed – and tracked the slow yet determined progress of the pool water’s sun pattern across the crisp white of the ceiling. ‘He should get up. Grab a shower and go join them...’ 

John scratched at the dried come that pulled on his belly hair with each slow breath; but he felt heavily laxed out from the double helping of awesome sex, the drain of Earth-bound travel and the emotions of yesterday…

He hadn’t been aware of falling back asleep, but he had, because when he opened his eyes again it was considerably darker in the silver-walled room. Or that could’ve just been Cam watching him from barely an inch-and-a-half away.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Cam murmured against his lips, the deep drawl he used when it was only the two of them, made John want to tug Cam down and never let him up. “Thinkin’ of joining us anytime soon?”

John yawned, but refused to knuckle his eyes like a five-year-old, instead he chose to act on his thoughts, and yanked Cam over his balance point. His boyfriend _ooofed_ a startled laugh but still managed to avoid both knee and elbow from landing in tender places, as John tightened the circle of his arms to bring Cam’s lips closer until they kissed. John had never been the kissing type, until Cam; which John guessed, _did_ make him the kissing type after all – since he’d been in a relationship with Cam for fifteen-years-tomorrow. John supposed that made him a relationship kinda guy too.

His laughter broke free to surround them and Cam, his eyes dark and deep and filled with the love John had the right to call his own, gave him three playful pecks before leaning back to get himself free.

“C’mon, flyboy, steaks are almost done.”

So he couldn’t’ve been out that long the second time, John figured as he threw back the sheet and padded, toes curling in the thick carpet, to the shower. “I’ll be out in ten.”

“You’d better, or I’m comin’ in after you.” Cam groused, watching the bare ripeness of John’s undulating ass before he stepped back out the patio door.

‘Hardly an incentive there, Mitchell,’ John smirked to himself as he ducked under the hot spray and reached for the body wash.

David looked up from placing the last of the huge, perfectly marinated and grilled steaks on the serving tray, to see his brother clear the guest room threshold, step barefoot onto the flagged stones of the patio and head toward them. 

He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face and reached his eyes at how happy and relaxed John looked; his freshly washed hair doing its thing so perfectly, that David had to suspect whether it was styled that way. He doubted it, John had never bothered with his appearance; but – and he glanced at Cam as a thought occurred to him – perhaps that was one of the things that _had_ changed about John in the years since they’d last seen each other.

“Steaks are done,” David welcomed as John tucked his fingertips into the hip pockets of his naturally-faded blue jeans and dropped a loose-limbed sprawl into the middle space of the curved seating.

“Great, I’m starving.” John smiled at David even as his eyes drifted to where Cam was casually leaning a hip against the multi-gold hued edging that traced the outdoor kitchen.

“Must’ve been all the exercise from this morning,” Cam teased and John felt a flush rush up his throat and into his cheeks.

“Yeah, must be.” He laughed and took the beer Dave was holding out to him. “What’s this?”

“It’s cold and it’s wet, so drink up, beer snob.” Cam ribbed.

John ignored him in favour of reading the label on the green long-necked bottle; the red stylised _S_ catching his eye as he rolled the bottle in his palm. “Product of New Zealand? It’s imported?” He stared at Dave. “We’re drinking _imported_ beer on the fourth?”

“I do not allow anything; holidays _or_ younger brothers to dictate my beer-drinking preferences.” Dave eyed John with amused seriousness as he placed the platter on the low table in the open air entertainment area. “There’s always Rosa’s watermelon-vodka punch.”

John frowned, but he wasn’t pouting, he _wasn’t;_ even if Cam’s smirk argued that he was. They’d brought beer with them, but he wasn’t about to go hunt it down and prove Cam’s _beer snob_ point. “No, this’ll do.”

He twisted off the top, flicked the cap in an accurate arc, and gave a satisfied nod when it landed in the terracotta planter to the right of Cam’s knee before he took a swig. ‘It wasn’t half bad, but hell if he’d admit that now.’

Cam came over, his own beer in hand and took the space on John’s left so Dave could sit next to his brother. “I’ve been learnin’ about the _only_ way to grill steak for nigh on an hour, man.” He drawled good-naturedly as he forked a huge, juicy-looking slab onto a pre-split bun, squirted mustard and ketchup, and squished it closed before taking a bite.

The resulting groan of pleasure made John duck his head, and had David hiding his self-satisfied grin in his own steak sandwich.

“You promised me football,” John croaked, his entire body still tight with reaction as he settled deeper into the comfortable white cushions; happy with the company and the chance to swig a cold beer – even if the damn thing _was_ imported.

“I did,” David agreed, shifted his roll to one hand and wiped his fingers on his board shorts before pointing a remote at the plain white wall that enclosed the fourth side of the patio. 

Cheers erupted in HD surround sound from hidden speakers and John allowed his thigh to press against Cam’s. Things were turning out _way_ better than expected; and it gave John hope that the rest of his plans would too.

~*~ 

He’d been asleep precisely a minute and twelve seconds – or so it had seemed to Cam – when John had woken him with relentless shoves instead of seductive kisses and urged him into his ragged jeans and the boots he wore back home that John had told him to bring. 

Now he was following where John led; his boyfriend, all sexy-as-hell in black tee, threadbare denim and black boots that looked as if they belonged to a veteran bull-rider. Cam squeezed the long warm fingers that towed him along and smiled at the answering caress. The cool brush of pre-dawn air against his cheek held the promise of dry heat close behind, but he was still glad for the warmth of his sheep’s-wool jacket that John had also insisted he pack as he let John lead him wherever they were going.

The dimly lit building Cam hadn’t noticed when they’d arrived turned out to be biggest stable he’d ever seen. Admittedly he hadn’t seen all that many, what with Auburn being cattle and crops more than horses, but he was sure this stable, with its towering black spine and rib bone roof line, six foot stall doors that glowed golden in the yellow light, and the wide cobbled central avenue; would be right up there in any mine’s-bigger-than-yours contest.

John had put the black backpack, whose contents were a mystery to Cam, on the floor just inside the door, so Cam placed the cooler next to it while he kept his eyes on the man at his side. It felt like they’d only just met, like they were out on their first date; so at home did John look in the quiet space as he stretched up to unhook two bridles and passed one to Cam, before snagging two hats – both black – and holding one out with smiling eyes.

“If we both wear the black hat, how they gonna know which of us is the badguy?” He joked softly, hesitant to disturb the peace both in his heart and the air around them.

John grinned but didn’t answer, just shouldered the bridle with a muted jingle and entwined his fingers with Cam’s before leading him forward again. “C’mon, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Cam grinned and picked up his pace, walking beside rather than just following where John led. Perhaps it was the military training but even though he liked surprises, he’d always felt easier if he knew the plan. John was sharing something of himself and the light full feeling in his chest infused itself into his bones.

The eager scuffing of hoof on stone and the affectionate snuffle that greeted them as John slid the red-painted iron bolt free and rolled back the stall door made Cam chuckle. John’s husky reassurance sent a shiver of want down Cam’s spine, reminded him of this same time of early morning; the two of them together after _too-bloody-long_ and the echo of that same voice coaxing Cam’s body into readiness, eager to be in the supportive strength of those arms.

“Cam, this is Jett.” John murmured with amused affection as velvety lips tickled his neck in greeting before side-butting John into stumbling a step, with a long black head. “Jett, this is Cam. He’s important.”

Cam felt his face flush; they didn’t get to declare very often and hearing John acknowledge him, even if it was to twelve hundred pounds and sixteen hand of sleek black horseflesh, was still a high.

He stepped closer, held his palm and fingers flat and let the animal take his scent. “Hey, Jett, it’s good to meet ya. How long you known this guy, eh?” Jett had allowed him to progress to face-strokes and Cam traced the four-pointed creamy-white star, felt the soft strands of forelock brush his fingertips.

“I was seventeen when my father bought him for me.” John’s palms stroked the glossy shine of arched neck, soothing patterns that were as familiar to Cam as his own breath. “A bribe to stay, one that I was determined to ignore.”

Cam laughed softly, watched his boyfriend duck his own wild hair in the long strands of jet-black mane, and thought that owners and their pets really did have similarities. “How long that last, I’m thinkin’ a week?” He asked with amusement chasing each word.

John was a stubborn ass, but Cam had a hunch that he and Jett had that in common.

“Two days.”

His bark of laughter shattered the silence and was answered by disgruntled snorts and pawing of hooves.

“Sorry,” he whispered but John just grinned at him before taking up the story again, seeming eager to tell it, now that he’d begun.

“Spent every day heading out, stayed away from the house; found places that wanted to be found…” Cam waited for more, but John, who’d never been big on words, appeared to have said all he was going to and was waiting for Cam to comment.

Cam stepped in close, wrapped his free arm around John’s hips and pulled the other man back, ducked his lips to that perfectly-edible, pointy-tipped ear. “Wanna show me, baby? Wanna take me places, show me you?”

John shuddered in his arms and Cam grinned, pressed a gentle kiss to the spot where John’s neck curved into his shoulder. He’d meant it to sound sexy and intimate; wanted to encourage his lover to share parts of himself he knew John still held back.

“Yeah,” that single word was husky and rough and went straight to Cam’s dick, and before he knew it, John had turned, was grinding his hips up into Cam’s and stealing his breath with hot, hot lips.

All thought of taking John down to the straw strewn cobbles and fucking him senseless, evaporated in the slick cooling trail of horse spit up Cam’s cheek and into his hair. “Uuurrgggh!”

John obviously had no qualms about disturbing the stable’s other residents because his gasping belly laughs filled the air and drove embarrassed heat into Cam’s cheeks, even as he wiped away the slobber with his sleeve. His boyfriend could be a right idiot, but despite that, Cam loved him, so he just held John upright when the other man’s legs buckled under the strength of his mirth and rode out the turbulence like the ace he was, all the while knowing full well this’d haunt him forever.

“Thanks,” he smiled ruefully and scrubbed his nails over Jett’s star again. “Thanks, for that.”

The sun was just peaking over the range of purple-grey mountains on the horizon two hours later when, John on Jett and Cam on Volar reached the south east quarter, or as John liked to call it, _the back nine._ They dismounted and Cam followed John’s lead, unsaddled Volar, removed his bridle and nudged him off to wander unchecked at Jett’s side, while he placed his tack on the top rail next to Jett’s.

“Come here often?” He teased and watched John’s smirk tug those lips over white teeth. John was doing that far more often than either of them had expected this weekend and it made Cam relax just that little bit more as he followed John, cooler in hand, through the gap between the second and third rails.

“Yep, when the weather’s good and the company’s better.”

Cam felt the brush of John’s hand on his, interlocked their fingers and wondered not for the first time since this impromptu fieldtrip had started, what was in John’s backpack. Though as he watched John spread an old patch-work quilt over the long grass at their feet before he tugged Cam down next to him, Cam knew there was nothing spontaneous about this; and that realisation, went a long way to explaining the nervousness that had shadowed John since before they’d left Colorado.

But it was the fluttering in his own gut as John tangled their legs, held him tight into a long lean flank and trailed slow suckling kisses up his neck; that had Cam thinking this place would be one of his favourites too, before the day was even halfway over.

~*~

Cam lay, body melted with sleepy relaxation into the warmth of John’s, content to watch as the waking sun returned night-stolen colour to the world. Pale blue washed away silver-grey sky like waves cleansing a beach of footprints, while straw yellow and spun gold licked and infused the long grasses like flames of heat from a lover’s touch. He couldn’t remember a time where he’d ever felt more calm.

“I’ve wanted to bring you here for a long time,” John murmured softly, a confession, “but…”

Cam caught the hand that’d lifted from John’s chest in a helpless gesture of inexplicable frustration, and linked their fingers, palms flush and opposite thumbs warring playfully.

“I’m here now.” He leaned in, met John half way and felt the soft rasp of dry lips against his own; had to lick, to taste, and be tasted in return. 

“Thank you.” He whispered when they came up for air; two short words, to acknowledge the trust given. 

John was _so_ nervous, his entire body thrummed with it. He was sure Cam could sense it, feel it leaching into him where they touched down their sides. It made his fingers tingle with numbness that sparked back into his nerves to start the cycle again. He’d planned it like any mission, strategized all possible obstacles, but he had no contingency; no daring eleventh-hour rescue. Cam’s fingers drew slow lazy circles over his belly; rasped in the smattering of dark hair, made his muscles jump with each advance up under his shirt. His lover’s hands on him, Cam’s hands, always brought him out of himself, grounded him, but not in the way every pilot dreaded. It was freeing, fulfilling, healing, and John had craved it like everything and nothing he could name.

He reached down, stroked and followed the contours of Cam’s fingers individually, traced the blunt square nails, the now invisible line of a scar that ran the length of his middle digit, swirled over each base knuckle and felt the soft lines of a life lived at full throttle; then slipped to sweep an arch over the naked third finger. It felt vulnerable beneath John’s calloused and questing pads as he pressed between, grazed over to press between on the other side. John felt Cam’s jolt of understanding, felt the other man spread his fingers in unspoken acceptance; but just once, John needed it said, needed the guarantee that came with audibility.

Cam immediately guessed what John was about when his boyfriend’s finger circled his ring finger, or at least he hoped. John was romantic in his own awkward way or maybe Cam was just so far gone for his flyboy that _any_ gesture the guy made, had Cam’s heart turning to mush. John had outdone himself with this though; a picnic at sunrise in a place that was special, that he thought would tell Cam how special he was too. ‘John had aced this, no question. Well…’ 

“Cam,” John didn’t halt the movement of his fingers but he lifted his eyes to meet the hope that swam in the blue-eyed gaze of the man he loved, and swallowed hard. “Will you marry me?”

Cam looked into the gold-green depths of his hot boyfriend’s eyes, dipped and nudged their noses playfully to erase the uncertainty beneath the hope in their shadows, and said in a drawl so thick with all he was feeling, “yeah, baby, I’ll marry you, but…only if you marry me too.”

John lunged, his mouth ravenous in its need to taste Cam’s acceptance, to seal the deal before Cam could change his mind, before he realised how much John had come out on top. John tasted his own name, a breathless moan of want and love, on Cam’s tongue and felt like the luckiest guy in two galaxies – hell, the universe. Cam had given him everything and John knew the value of his gift. “Want you.” 

Cam heard the plea John mouthed into the underside of his upturned jaw as he fought to get John free of his black tee. “Take me.”

He moaned as John ground his hips down, pressing Cam’s ass into the quilt, the flattened grasses beneath, and rubbed their cocks along each other; twin layers of denim tethering their pleasure.

“Fuck, Cam!” John groaned, his fingers freeing button and zipper on Cam’s jeans to find coffee curls and straining scorching flesh. “Commando, damn, so hot!”

Cam’s chuckle was strangled into a deep moan as John wrapped those talented fingers around him, tightened but didn’t move; just held Cam’s hip with his free hand, pinned in place and at John’s mercy.

“S’okay, I’ve got you.” John assured in soft whisper-covered steel that had Cam arching, writhing, and spreading his legs as far as the denim around his knees would allow.

John lathed the flat of his tongue up the underside of Cam’s cock, felt his lover jerk, heard his own name carried away on the still morning air and took him down. The weight of Cam’s cock in his mouth, the way his lips tingled with the stretch to take it, and the bittersweet taste of need, almost had John coming _way_ too soon. He squeezed the base of his cock and breathed out his nose, refusing to pull off and lose the feeling of Cam; but hands were tugging at his shirt, at his hair, pulling him up and off so he could be kissed. Cam could kiss, a natural talent that made John feel cherished and wanted. No one had _ever_ kissed him the way Cam did; and John, was _totally_ okay with that.

“Got…any lube…in…that…boy-scout pack…of…yours?” Cam panted on every other word. ‘He had to have John in him _rightthehellnow!’_

John grinned, cocky and elated by how things were turning out, reached into the pocket to pull out the pump bottle and waggled it at Cam. “How much d’ya need flyboy?”

Cam swallowed thickly and felt his hole flutter in anticipation of John’s fingers, three together, sliding slick and knowing, opening and teasing, till Cam thought he’d come from that alone. “Clothes off, now!”

John laughed, lust-darkened eyes never leaving Cam’s as he kicked out of jeans and yanked off his tee; helped Cam lose his with a tug that took boots and socks as well. Cam felt warm palms slide back up his naked thighs, felt them pushed onto his chest and gripped the backs of his own knees; went with it till he felt exposed, vulnerable to sun and air and the desire in John’s expression. He felt the cool swipe of lubed fingertips, shuddered at the heightened whisper of breeze on his winking entrance, heard John’s intake of breath and murmured curse before the insistent press and burn. He arched up in greeting and encouragement; needed to feel full and possessed, pulled his knees tighter into himself, open and wanting more.

“ _Jesus,_ Cam!” John’s voice was wrecked beyond his recognition, as he watched Cam take his fingers. The delicate pink of his fiancé’s rim sucked them in like Cam’s lips sucked John’s cock. So pretty and hot, he just wanted to stare, mesmerized by the privilege of being allowed to do this to Cam. He pulled back and the little hole pouted, pouted and suckled at his retreating digits and John’s cock jerked, angry at being denied.

It was a moment before he realised Cam was begging above him, pleading for John to take him and there wasn’t a man alive who could ignore that. 

John pulled his fingers free on a slow drag, each finger released on a moan of loss that struck John low in his gut. He rose up, nestling his lubed cock against Cam, the softly furled entrance mouthing him with dainty kisses that had him wanting to drive deep; to split Cam with his cock, and drink his lover’s pleasure as if it would quench his hunger.

“I love you.” He declared, sucked Cam’s reassurance from the tip of his tongue and drove forward, gripped writhing hips with bruising strength as pliant flesh yielded, sheathed him tight in welcome till he could get no closer, no deeper, within the warmth of home.

Cam felt as if John was splitting him in two; rending him open, reaming him with that perfect cock and it was fucking amazing! John drove deep on every stroke, dragged back ruthlessly slow, before fucking him over and again. The head nailed his sweet spot on every single pass, till Cam could do nothing more than take it, take all that John gave him. 

He felt the sweat slick slap of thighs slamming against his ass cheeks, the soft velvet rub of balls at his crack, the grunting breaths as his lover drove them toward the edge; the ever-moving crest that edged closer, only to elude them when John pulled back. Cam reached up, cupped John’s face as he lowered his thighs to hold John against him. He kissed and moaned into welcoming wet heat as John circled instead of thrusting, grinding pressure on the little bundle of nerves - an insistent siege rather than all-out assault - while a hand cupped and lifted one ass cheek, angled him to take more. 

Cam didn’t know he could, he was so full, so close, already; but he did because this was John. John was here, with him, around him, in him; and he’d asked Cam to _marry_ him…

_“FUUUCK!”_

Cam’s entire body seized with the power of his orgasm, toes curled, thighs fused to John’s slick rocking hips, his muscles pulsing the length of John’s solid shaft. He tried to rock up, to take more as John pinned his wrists, still fucking, each thrust more ragged than the one before. “C’mon, baby, fill me up, give it to me,” Cam pleaded into the heated space behind his lover’s ear. “Yours, John, make me yours.”

“C-Cam!” His name barely audible on a rushed exhale, tightened Cam’s heart as he felt John come inside him, felt himself filled, and branded, and taken, by the man who’d had him with one wary glance of those amazing hazel-green eyes; still had him, would always have him.

Cam rolled his hips trying to extend John’s pleasure, to stir the shuddering aftershocks he loved almost as much as climax itself. 

John shivered a chuckle and rolled his own hips in answer. He loved it when Cam did that, wrung out every last drop of pleasure for them both. He took his weight back on his forearms, felt the rubbery protest of his biceps, but knew they’d hold, and leaned in to nip at Cam’s lower lip. 

“Hey.” It was one word, but it was all his brain could handle right then, so he tried to infuse everything into it; his love, his uncertainty, his concern, his need for reassurance.

Cam answered with a deep slow kiss; pulled back just enough for his fingertips to stroke away John’s frown and smiled brighter than the mid-morning sun above them. 

“Hey.”


End file.
